
The Sign of the Tree 



HARRIET MASON KILBURN 




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THE SIGN OF THE TREE 



BY 
HARRIET MASON KILBURN 




BOSTON 
SHERMAN, FRENCH 6- COMPANY 
1913 






COPYKIGHT, 1913 

Sherman, French 6^ Company 



©CLA358643 



TO 
THE MEMORY OF MY 
FATHER AND MOTHER 

AVERY PLUMER 

AND 

CAROLINE METCALF PLUMER 



NOTE 

The poems "Candlemas" and "Words" are 
reprinted here with the kind permission 
of the editors of the American Magazine. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Apprentice at Prayer 1 

Louis in Sainte Chapelle 13 

Rex Regium 15 

A Child's Christmas Prayer .... 20 

Justice 21 

"Love Falleth Never Away" .... 24 

Harvesting 26 

Candlemas 28 

The Pilgrim and the Angel .... 30 

A Theologian Soliloquizes 32 

A Prayer for Katharine 40 

Autumn 41 

A Winter Walk 42 

To Christina of Denmark, Duchess of 

Milan 43 

Rosa Rosarum 44 

Love 45 

Union 46 

Greetings 47 

Love in Absence 48 

To A Charming Old Maid 50 

Words 51 

Menuetto 52 

Libera me, Domine ! 54 

"Aus DER Harzreise" 55 

To the Unknown God 58 



THE APPRENTICE AT PRAYER 



Lord of our goodly Guild, 
Give me to make things fair ! 
Great Master Carpenter! O hear my prayer 
That I may build, 
With hammer, plane, and square. 
All true and sound, brave roof -trees, where 
My brothers may find shelter from the night: 
What time the tender evening star burns up 
Her Avistful taper; and the warm, clear light 
Of tranquil sunset falls 
Red-golden, radiant, upon the walls 
That I would Kft, — wherein the tired labourer 

may sup. 
Wherein glad mothers may be keeping 
Homely, sweet watch o'er little children, sleeping 
In carven cradles — mine. Lord, — ^wrought so 

rare 
That all the baby elves. 
Awaking, 
Round-eyed, within their beds, when day is 

breaking. 
May laugh to see themselves. 
In sunny morning beams. 
Droller and sweeter far, all dancing there. 
Than ever in their funny little dreams 1 



[1] 



Good Craftsman, let me make one beauteous 
marriage bed! 

Artificer of Love, how I would go 

The happier — I, who may not know 

The master-workman's full creative joy, — 

If I might shed 

One ray of comeliness 

On Love ! O let my chisel but caress 

The couch where happy lovers wed. 

If I, Love's 'Prentice, might employ 

My humble craftsmanship in serving Love : bear 
part 

In Love's adorning ; from my thankful heart 

I would break forth in singing, 

How gladly ringing 

In grateful unison with this my hammer swing- 
ing 

To build all beautiful the nest 

Wherein Thy homing birds, with pinions inter- 
lac'd, should find their perfect rest. 

Lord, I would turn Thee trenchers fair and 
round ! 
Bordured with leaves and tendrils to entwine 
Globes of clear colour, liquid, yet adust 
With purple bloom ; and through the Vine 
I'd thrust 

Thy goodly yellow spears of Wheat: 
That, when Thy children sat at meat, 

[2] 



They might abound 

In gracious thoughts and glad of One who so 

hath fed 
Body and spirit: hath contriv'd each common 

thing 
To breed such beautiful imagining, — 
That. — eating but their daily bread: 
Rejoicing in their corn and wine — 
They might adore, 
As in a shrine, 

The Giver of the feast: rise up to bless 
And name Thee Lord of Loveliness 
For evermore. 

Master ! to pleasure Thee in this my task 
Is all I ask; 

Yet verily I think to labour 
Best unto Thee, my God, in serving so my 

neighbour. 
My fathers thought 

To find Thee alway in their holy places ; 
And ever do the Scribes and Pharisees, 
With sweeping garments, broad phylacteries, 
Bring special tribute; plead for special graces, 
Within the Temple court. 
But I? — Lord, I must praise 
And honour Thee in all my common ways ! 
I would believe that Thou hast meant 
Thy Servant — ^born indeed of David's line, 

[3] 



Yet different 

From these my kinsfolk — to divine 

Thy presence otherwhere 

Than in Jerusalem. O not within a sanctuary 

apart 
From daily traffic and the public mart 
I look to find 
Jehovah shrin'd. 

Here in good Joseph's shop I stand 
At prayer. 

I need not stay my busy hand, 
Nor leave my workman's bench, to share 
Thy mysteries. Nay, Lord, Thy glory shineth 

clear 
Upon Thy 'Prentice working here I 
Thy Holiest of Holies nevermore be set apart: 
Here I do homage, at my brother's heart! 

Was not my Birthday Star a sign 
To me and mine.? 

Almighty [ is it but a childish fable 
That, verily, Shechinah blaz'd within a stable.? 



II 

Oft have I heard my Mother tell 
How it befell: — 

Her time of travail at the crowded inn 
Of Bethlehem. How they sped 
[4] 



Her fainting forth ; and laid her even in the bin 

Whereat good country creatures fed ! 

The ox and ass were standing by, 

The while she mounted up the steeps of pain ; 

And when she fell to peace, how they were fain 

To see her lie, — 

Mysteriously troubled, marvellously glad, — 

My gentle INIother ! — when at length she had 

Her quiet hour; lay rapt in Sabbath rest; 

Worshipping the Wonder-Child upon her breast. 

Perchance rough, kindly women came to show 

Some tenderness ; and made my little bed 

Within the hay; 

And even the oxen seemed as they might know ! 

For father Joseph saith 

That all the cattle touched me where I lay — 

But softly — and how soft their breath. 

All milky-sweet, did play 

Homely and warm, upon the Baby's head! 

What of the splendours of my Star? 
'Tis said three royal wizards travell'd far. 
Marking its brilliance: that they came 
To bear me gratulation, bringing 
Their honourable frankincense and myrrh. 
Lord, is it false? Do these my lovers err 
That boast how kings have feared my fame? — 
How shepherds, dreaming on the sward 
At midnight, saw the coming of the Lord 
Amid celestial cohorts; heard celestial singing? 
[5] 



I know not ! — Yet I think fond love hath 

wrought 
Such ravishment of sense and thought: 
Hath wove a wonder-web so dazzHng bright 
That it doth veil my earthly coming in a mystic 

light, 
B;urning to whitest white 
The clear, gay colours of the Blessed Night. 

Yet still supernal splendours from above 
Irradiate every little child of love ! 
Yea, Lord of Life, 'tis true, 
And passing sweet. 

That Thou didst open Heaven to mortal view, 
And show the ancientry of Earth 
Like to an heavenly vision — recreated, new, — 
When Love Immortal came to mortal birth. 
How doth humanity repeat. 
In joyous antiphon to-day. 
The Advent angels' midnight carolling: 
How country hind and crowned king 
Still journey from afar to bring 
Their gifts of honour: still display 
Treasures of adoration at the Baby's feet f 

The Baby ! — Lord, I ween 
'Twas verily the shepherds first that saw 
The manifesting of the ancient law — 
For them the Christmas Glory shin'd. 

[6] 



And they — good clowns — 

Were they not wonted but to mind 

Their browsing sheep : 

Wonted to wake and sleep 

Nightly amid such braveries? To see the dusky 

green 
Of all the quiet-spreading Syrian downs — 
Transmuted magically — tremble into silver 

light, 
Wave upon wave of verdure shimmering sheen? 
Might they not watch the miracle of moonlight 

growing 
From fair to fairer yet? see starshine flowing, 
Thrilling the waiting dark to beauty? see the 

earth, outleaping, catch 
The living radiance : lying gloriously dight, 
Apparell'd crystal-pure to meet and match 
High heavenly splendours of an orient night? 

So when the Advent Star shone down 
Upon the dark, still town 
Of Bethlehem, I think the watchful shepherds 

gaz'd. 
Indeed with awe, and happiness unutterable; 

but not amaz'd. 
Perchance the flocking angels — floating, singing 
Within the amethystine deeps, — to them were 

bringing 



[7] 



Only the fair fulfillment of their gracious 
dreaming ; 

For them did Heaven open sweet and natural- 
seeming. 

So should Messiah come ! Yea — and how com- 
fortable 

To find the King of kings thron'd upon straw ; 

His royal welcome beaming 

Bright through an open door — 

Open to all His own — ^Emmanuel keeping state 
within a stable 1 

Father! Thou hast unfurl'd 
The scroll clear-writ for all the coming ages: 
Kindled the flame that must illuminate and warm 

the world, 
By means of simple-hearted mages ! 
So that the chilly centuries; yearning 
Abroad for fire in cold and darkness; turning 
Innumerable sheaves 
Of dusty leaves; 

Ruffling dull tomes of bygone state — 
Thinking to find 

Sibylline oracles therein enshrin'd — 
May rest at ease, close in the ingle-nook, 
And look, 

Enchaunted, in the volume of their fate; 
Smiling to find it but a picture-book : 



[8] 



Rejoicing how they are beguiPd: 
Eager to scan the brightly-coloured pages 
All figured fair with homely beasts and rustic 

sages 
Bending before a Mother and a newborn Child! 



Ill 



Behold me, Lord! a carpenter's Apprentice, 

— yet 
Thy true Anointed, here and now ! — 
These drops of sweat 
The sacred chrism of labour on my brow ; 
This bench of mine the Altar of the Highest; 
Lo, these my carver's tools — chalice and paten, 

mine, 
Wherein I proffer sacramental Bread and Wine 
To all my Fellowship. Here I come nighest, 
O Master Craftsman, unto Thee ! Here I lift 

up 
My human heart — a common earthen cup 
Empty for service: ready to be fill'd 
With sweet and bitter drops distill'd 
Above. 

Most gracious Lord! 
Hear Thou the Prayer of Thine Apprentice! 

O afford 
A generous vintage! So shall it be pour'd 



[9] 



Again to feed and hearten these my brothers 

here, 
Enriched by earthly savours, flowing clear 
From out the homely vessels of my labour and 

my love 1 

I hear my fellows prate 
Of serving Thee within the Temple gate — 
Curiously beautifying and burnishing 
Thy sanctuary furnishing 

To Sabbath splendour. Nay, but. Lord, I err 
Who thus deride them ! They do never ill 
That offer loving service. Yet, I would prefer. 
If it might be Thy will. 
To make my daily labour all my prayer: 
To build Thee tabernacles everywhere. 

Eternal! I do not ask 
To rear Thee costly shrines to dwell in. Let 

my task 
Be rather but to make 
Sound things and strong, for this my brother's 

sake. 
Lord, I would even choose 
To mend the children's toys: 
Make whole again the broken baubles that Thy 

little ones must use 
To live the happier — turn their griefs to joys. 
Is not the cheerful beat 
Of happy little children's feet 

[10] 



The sweetest earthly sound that I may ever 

hear — 
Most musical of all 
That fall 

Upon my listening ear, 
In Nazareth's quiet street? 

Yet there be cripples too ! — Father, it is not 
much 
I fain would fashion — not a bauble even, — nay, 

a crutch. 
A crutch ? — A Cross 1 O how I did only touch. 
Fondling, the thought of simple human pleas- 
ures. 
Like manhood lingering upon childish treas- 
ures — 
Caressing but to put them by 
For graver things and fairer I So must I 
Touch these my toys how tenderly! Though 

well I know. 
Indeed, the aweful way that I shall go 
To victory : though strong, sustaining wings 
Bear through infinitudes of heavenly things 
My soul expectant; yet — I would not lose 
One grain of sweetness from my earthly store. 
And so I muse, 

Happy and sorrowful at once, before 
My open door: — 

Musing, the while I wait in quietude 
Upon my coming hour to rear the Rood : 

[11] 



Praying, in the calm that quickens to my 
Passion, 

Only that Love will give what Love must make 

Strongly to stand: 

Inform with loveliness for Love's own sake. 

Behold Thy Server, God! pleading, with out- 
stretched hand: 

Lord of our gracious craft ! O give, — that I 
may take 

My Cross ! — fairest of all fair things that Love 
can fashion. 



[13] 



LOUIS IN SAINTE CHAPELLE 

"What Saint Louis of France discerned, and found so 
irresistibly touching, across the dimness of many cen- 
turies, as a painful thing done for love of him by one 
he had never seen." 

Pater's: "Marius the Epicurean." 

Jesu, my Lord ! here would I ever be ! 
Here, in the jewelPd gloom 
Of this fair-colour'd shrine — this precious 
room 
Which I do consecrate and give to Thee 
To be Thy bower;— 
With Blanche my Lady-Mother's castles to Thy 

dower ; 
And all the lilies of my France in flower! 

Be this Thy garden, where I set to bloom 
Sprigs pluck'd from Calvarie, 
Thy Garland, with a branch from off that 
Tree 
Where Thou didst hang for me — to bear my 
doom. 

Make them to root. 
And spring to living greenness here ! Soon may 

they shoot: 
Bearing Thee ruddy blossoms and sweet fruit! 



[13] 



Jesu! let Louis be the fruit and flower 
To bourgeon from the wood 
Of this Thy Crown of Thorn, Thy cruel 
Rood ! 
Lord, when I mind me of that aweful hour 
When Thou wast slain — 
Dying for love of me unknown to Thee — I'd 

fain 
Give all myself to Thee in love again ! 



THE ENVOY 

Saviour! Thy dying and Thy love not all in 



vain 



See how, within the Rood, 
Sweet sap hath quickened the wither'd 
wood ! 
Yea, France and Louis now Thy Crown of Pain 
Would wear: would be the fruit 
And blossom growing up from Calvarie's 
root, — 
Perfum'd and colour'd all of Love, the twain ! 
Didst Thou not break a Lance 
For love of Louis, and for this Thy Finance ? 
So France and Louis would be all Thy gain. 
Lord! when we see 
What Love itself is — how do we bum to be 
Like Love ! to take the Cross ! to die for Thee ! 

[14] 



REX REGIUM 

Good Masters, wherefore throw ye wide the 

doore ? 
Doth not the winter winde blow chill and f rore ? 
What meanes the hopefull hollie twining 
With red and greene, 
Your lattices betweene? 
And why these manie candles shining 
So faire and farre into the bitter street, 
Each one set like a starre, to guide some 
traveller's feet? 
And hark ye ! how the chimes be swinging, 

ringing ! 
And here come lads and lasses — trooping, 
singing. 

THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is come! is come! 
Dark the December night; hut here he love and 
light! 

Prince Jesu, welcome home! 



Where would ye lodge sweet Mary, all foredone 
With travailing to beare her little Sonne? 
Make you readie your hostelrie ! 



[16] 



Heap high the fire, 
And pile the couch yet higher 
With hnen f aire and cramoisie ! 
Nay ; let them house without there, in the stable ! 
Withinne we holde carouse. This night we are 
not able 
To give them roome. Againe the chiming, 

singing ! 
How shrillie cleare the carolling a'ringing! 

THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is come! is come! 
Dark the December night; but here be love and 
light! 

Prince Jesu, welcome home! 



Now men and maids, beginne your wassailing ! 
"Was haile ! Drink haile ! To Thee, our Lorde 
and King 1" 
Fill uppe the ribbon'd bowl a'swimmlng 
With royal clove, 
Meet for the lippes of Love [ 
Give them the spicie cup high brimming I 
Yea, hyssop too and vinegar to-morrow 
We'll bring the Man ! We brew the Maid a cup 
of sorrow I 



[16] 



"Was haile! Drink haile !" Mark the 

chimes thrilling, ringing: 
"Come all ye, Masters! come ye, trolling, 



smging !" 



THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is come! is com£! 
Dark the December night; but here be love and 
light! 

Prince Jesu, welcome home! 



Will ye plucke Chrystmasse roses white and red 
To plait a garland for your Saviour's head? 
Yea, but the crowne that we be weaving 
The Newlie-Bome, — 
'Tis but a Crowne of Thorne ; 
And for our Blessed Lord's receiving 
A Garden faire we plant; that He may see. 
The while He kneels at prayer, bloomes of Geth- 
semane ! 
Planting we singf Sing we all weaving! 

singing 
To birthday bells how sweet! rejoicing, 
ringing ! 



[17] 



THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is come! is com^! 
Dark the December night; hut here he love and 
light! 

Prince Jesu, welcome home! 

What would you have your Babie Princehng 

wear ? 
A royal Purple Robe, furr'd warme with vair, 
His liegemen lend to His adorning. 
Happ'd to the throat 
Withinne a Seamelesse Coat, 
We dress Him, — readie for the Scorning. 
We'd make a Reede His bauble: Dolours Seven 
We offer her in deede our Ladie Queene of 
Heaven ! 
Crowne we our King! — all honour bringing 

— ringing : 
"Hosanna in the Highest !" Lauding, sing- 
ing. 

THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is come! is come! 
Dark the December night; hut here he love and 
light! 

Prince Jesu, welcome home! 

[18] 



Good people, will ye set your King on high? 
Yea, look you where all starke against the skie 
His kingly glorie doth attend Him ! 
Uppe to the Rood 
Our Jesu's Gentlehood 
We lift! He hangs, with none to friend 
Him. 
Raignes He alone? Alone! nay. Crosses Three 
The splendour of His throne — on Calvarie ! 
"In Excelsis Gloria!" ringing, singing! 
"O Exultate Deo!" singing, ringing! 



THE WAITS 

Noel! Noel! Our little Lord Emmanuel 

Is coTTie! is come! 
Dark the December night; but here be Love and 
Light! 

King Jesu, welcome Home! 



[19] 



A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS PRAYER 

Little Lord Jesu, let me bring 
My toys to Thee, dear Brother and King! 
As wise men travelled long and far, 
Following the road of a golden star. 

Not to the treasure that they should get. 

At the journey's end, their feet were set; 

For all the longing their hearts did lift 

Was to bring Thee their best as a birthday gift. 

So, Baby from Heaven, I bring my joys 
All to Thee, for Thine earthly toys. 
Dear little Jesu, accept and play 
With me and my treasure on Christmas Day I 



[20] 



JUSTICE 



'He took a little child, and set him by His side." 

When I was only three or four, 
Pla} ing one day about the door, 
I made a beautiful mud-pie ! 
It looked so good I had to try 
To taste it. — I did long to eat 
Things that were sugary and sweet: 
I might not have them — that w^as why 
I tried to eat my pie. 

But — O, it wasn't good at all, 
Nor sweet ! I turned me to the wall 
And wept my heart out loud and long. 
I felt before that it was wrong 
To taste the pie ; but now I knew: 
The savour of it made me rue 
My sin: to taste confirmed surmise 
'Twas wrong to eat mud-pies ! 

Then my good mother passed my way. 
She had been visiting that day ; 
She wore some sort of shiny bonnet. 
And a silken gow^n with fringe upon it. 
Just my poor dirty, tear-stained face ; 
My broken pie ; my small disgrace 
Quick anger'd her; — and from her mood. 
She whipp'd me where I stood. 
[21] 



I'd felt conviction deep of sin 
Until she came — far, far within 
My baby soul was hurt and sore: 
Self-punish'd I had been before 
My mother punish'd me: but when 
She struck — O, then it was, just then 
I fell ! A fallen angel, I 

Was glad I ate my pie ! 



II 

"And they say unto her: 'Woman, why weepest 
thou?' She saith unto them: 'Because they have taken 
away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid 
Him.' " 



I wanted Love ! Deep chill'd in mire, 
I reach'd for the Immortal Fire 
To warm me ; snatch'd one red-hot coal 
For mine 1 Then sear'd me in my soul 
Love ? — nay, phantasmal, ice-cold Lust ! 
Yet, where I grovell'd in the dust, 
Love touch'd me, that I thrill'd and yearn'd,- 
Yes, God! — ^His finger bum'd! 

Now virtuous women pass me by; 
They do not speak to such as I ! 
They lash me with a sidelong look 
The while they go; — ^because I took 



[22] 



From Love's high altar, one poor brand 
That broke to ashes in my hand. 
False-flaming, yet it burned how well 
To light me down to Hell 1 

God's punishing had made me whole 
Perhaps ; had heal'd my sicken'd soul. 
I wanted Love Divine — not Lust. 
Your virtue trails me in the dust — 
The burned-out ashes of this hell 
Where I and mine for ever dwell. 
Yea, sneer and pass I Your harlot, I ! 
Good Christian passer-by ! 

Love touch'd me ! O, I sometimes think 
On comers where I lurk and slink ; 
Or in high places where I vaunt 
Your shame and mine — that Love will haunt 
My slimy steps ; till, face to face. 
His toucli buiTis white my dark disgrace ! 
But — Christ save that His creatures damn?- 
Let me be what I am 1 



[23] 



"LOVE FALLETH NEVER AV^AY" 

"Love falleth never away I" 
How I wondered to hear that day 

Of a Love abiding ; 

In the shadows hiding. 
'Twas in Church, and I waited to pray. 
Love falleth never away. 

"Love falleth never away !" 

Now I think that I hear them say — • 

All the beating looms 

Of the rhythmic rooms 
In the mill where I work all day: 
"Love falleth never away !" 

"Love falleth never away 1" 

I am young, and I want to play. 

I want loving and living; 

I want growing and giving: — 

my youth pulses strong to-day ! 
Love falleth never away 1 

"Love falleth never away !" 

1 am old and weary and grey; 

So I long for the gloom 

Of my small still room. 
O the spindles that may not stay ! — 
Love falleth never away.'' 

[24] 



*'Lovc f alleth never away 1" 
It is hot in the mill in May. 

Is a buttercup springing, 

A bluebird singing, 
Where it's green and cool? Did they say 
"Love f alleth never away?" 

"Love f alleth never away !" 
I thought I heard them say. — 

Love, dear Love ! come down 

To the cruel town — 
Oh, Thy children need Thee ! Yea, 
Love f alleth never away ! 



[25] 



HARVESTING 
WHITSUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY 

The little, dusky church is all aglow ; 
Flames, leaping from the altar tapers, show 
Wine-red the flowers that veil the Cross, and 

cling 
Flamelike, about the Symbol of Love's 

harvesting. 

The Children march, bearing their sheaves of 

May. 
Cherry and apple blooms for Whitsunday, 
To deck the shrine of Love, gleam pink and white 
Among the little heads, rose-flushed and 

crowned with light. 

Pure as white flame, the childish praises wing 
Their happy way to God. The babies sing 
Shrilly and sweet ; then stir, and flutter low ; 
Waiting to feel the Spirit enter, ere they go. 

Without, — an "upper room" of tender blue 1 
Sunshine ; clouds warm with rain and kindly 

dew; 
Birds building; fields all brave in hopeful green 
Speak blessed, common things to come — 

things yet unseen ; 

[26] 



While orchard boughs innumerable fling high 
Their fires of rose and pearl into the sky, 
A million million tongues — to shout and sing: 
"Praise Love, the Lord of Life; and Love's 
high harvesting!" 



[27] 



CANDLEMAS 

THE PURIFICATION OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN MARY 

Christ's Church bears Hghts to-day. His 

altars lift 
Fair candles, burning clean. Sweet odours 
rise 
Votive, where Mary's lilies wear their whiteness 
like the gift 
Of innocence: — laid undefil'd 
Before a Mother and a Child ; 
And Latin pride renews her ancient mys- 
teries. 

The dark, ill-smelling, all unsavoury street. 
Littered and blown by dirty windrif t ; pil'd 
Foul with its garbage ; shrill with outcries harsh 
and scuffling feet 
Of filthy children at their play : — 
The street burns brave and high to-day 
Candles to Mary, Mother; and the Holy 
Child. 

Where slattern housewives ply their futile 

brooms. 
And lazy harlots list the pedlar's call : — 
Crouching on kerb or doorstep, leaning out from 

frowsy rooms, 

[28] 



Murmur in tender baby-speech 
The httle sistcr-niothers ; each 
Cradhng her God within a Httle, dirty 
shawl. 

Poor son-y God of Love ! — unlovely, thin, 
Wizen with hunger; sin-diseas'd ; in mirth 
Unmirthful; — hushed and warmed of brooding 
rapture ; gather'd in, 
Worshipp'd and comforted — yea, press'd 
Close to a virgin-mother's breast: — 
Where Love Divine brings Loveliness itself 
to birth ! 



THE ENVOY 

Burn no brave lights within this broken clay? 
Stands not the Virgin forth in white array? 
Is not the Child our very God to-day? 



[29] 



THE PILGRIM AND THE ANGEL 

"Si Von pouvait demander a un ange ce que nos dmes 
font dans V ombre, je crois qu'il r^pondrait: 'Elles 
transforment en beauU les petites choses qu'on leur 
donne.' " 

Maurice Maeterlinck: "Le Trisor des Humbles." 

THE PILGRIM 

What doth my Soul in the Dark? O say — 
Thou Angel guarding this house of clay \ 

Do I wake or sleep — 

Do I smile or weep — 
As I journey up through the hidden way 

Where I dwell in the far, far deep? 

Angel of Comfort, I fain would know 
How my Soul f areth on 1 Do I feast below ? 
Is clear water springing? 
Are bright birds winging 
The bloom and the green? Is it gay where I 
go- 
That I think to hear music ringing? 

THE ANGEIi 

Child of the Dark ! Fellow-Pilgrim of mine ! 
We tarry to-night in a wayside shrine : 

Yet the flutings of Love 

Fall faint from above 
And we take the immortal Bread and Wine 

From a mystical Carrier-Dove! 
[30] 



Soul, moving slow through the blackness here, 
Abiding the breaking of morning clear, 

Fare on ! Thou art growing 

But Love's own sowing, 
Whose harvest of Loveliness draweth near: 

Yea, look up ! see the day-star glowing ! 



THE PILGRIM 

Angel, hark how the flutes blow fair! 

How the triumphing trumpets peal and blare! 

'Tis the end of night — 

Lo, the day dawns bright — 
My birthday 1 Dear Angel, what gifts may I 
bear? — 

What sheaves to the Lord of Light? 



THE ANGEL 

Bind for Love's harvest thy laughter, thy 

weeping ; 
All thy fire of desire; every joy of thy keeping; 
Love-labour — full measure ; 
Soul ! toys of thy leisure ; 
The tears of the years ; — O thy failing. His 
reaping 
Bear up to thy God for treasure ! 



[31] 



A THEOLOGIAN SOLILOQUIZES 

Sometimes I think the grown-ups do not 

know 
So very much! because — O, long ago, 
When I was httle, only six or seven — 
They used to tell about a place called Heaven. 
They said that all good people, when they 

died, — 
If they had not been naughty, but had tried 
With all their might and main, to do the things 
They ought, — got beautiful white feathery 

wings. 
Like angels in the pictures ; and would fly 
Up to a big, bright place far in the sky. 
Where God lived in behind some gates : — and 

that was Heaven. 
I didn't mind it very much ; but I was only six 

or seven. 

But when I read about it in that book — 
The Bible (Church seems shorter if you look 
At something when you have to sit and sit 
While that man talks), I did not think that it 
Seemed like an interesting place to stay : 
Well — not a place where you could really play! 
And full of elders : — that's another word 
For grown-up people, I have somewhere heard. 



[3a] 



Besides, a place witliout a bit of sea, 
(Except a glassy one) did seem to me 
A funny place for little boys. I really even 
Thought I should simply hate to die and have to 
fly away to Heaven ! 

You sec, in Church I mostly had to read 
The things in Revelations ; for you need 
To have the interesting places found: — 
Jesus and all the people sitting 'round 
To eat things from a basket, out of doors ; 
Joseph and Pharaoh ; Moses giving laws 
To all those children ; and some fighting things, 
Stories — about the Judges and the Kings. 
The Bible's rather thick : but as INIiss Brown 
(^ly governess) would shake her head and frown 
If I just whispered: w^ould she please to find 

where Stephen 
Was, — why — I looked at Adam in his garden 

first, and then at Heaven. 

Well — Father came to stay ! Of course he'd 
been 
So much from home that he had hardly seen 
i\Ic ; for he'd had to travel far away 
When I was born : almost the very day 
That ^lothcr went to Heaven, and I came : 
Because things didn't seem one bit the same 
With Mother gone ; and only me, so small 
That I could be no company at all. 
[33] 



(You know what babies are 1 They cry and 

stare 
And cry, and look so silly lying there !) 
No wonder Father stayed till I was more than 

seven 
Away from home, — when I was small, and 

Mother'd had to go to Heaven. 

O it was simply wonderful — the change 
That Father's coming made ! It seemed so 

strange 
To have a person who could understand: 
Who thought 'twas fun to play the games I 

planned ; 
Someone who never made a bit of fuss 
If things sometimes got a rather in a muss 
When we were busy. (Women aren't that way: 
I really think they don't know how to play !) 
But Father loved to do just everything 
That I did ; and he always let me bring 
My toys to show him — yes, and ask him ques- 
tions even 
When he was writing: so one day I thought I'd 
ask him about Heaven. 

(I heard ]\Iiss Brown say somebody was dead; 
And that's what really put it in my head) ; 
So I asked : "Father, please I want to know 
All about Heaven ; and why you have to go 

[34] 



There, if you're good, If you don't like it much. 
I shouldn't want to die and go to such 
A place, I know, — if it is like the book. 
And Daddy, tell me, why do people look 
So solemn, and talk underneath their breath 
When people die? Please, Father, what is 

death? 
I didn't care so much when I was only seven ; 
But now I'm almost eight, I'd like to know all 

about going to Heaven." 

I think that it was quite a big surprise 
To Father ; for he lifted up his eyes 
Off from his book, and looked so hard at me, 
And queerly too, — as if he didn't see 
His little boy, but some quite strange new thing 
Instead ; — and it was rather frightening 
Just for a minute: then he laughed, so I 
Knew 'twas all right ; and then he said : "I'll 

try, 
Old fellow, to help you to see things straight ; 
But I'm afraid that you will have to wait 
As I am waiting — and you know I'm more than 

seven ! — 
To know much of that place you hear some 

people talk about as 'Heaven.' " 

"Just one thing I can tell you — and it's this : 
That Heaven is only where Our Father is: 
Where we may hear his voice and see his face, 
[35] 



And live with him in such a j oily place ; 
And see the very things we want to see ; 
And be what we have always tried to be — 
Like Father ; — that is Heaven, my dear old man. 
And death? — well — death I hardly think I can 
Explain. Let's wait, and we shall find some day 
That death is nothing but an easy way 
To get to him. Our Father! For I believe it's 

even 
Easier than you and I imagine — far, to take the 

road for Heaven !" 

Then Father said I'd better not go on 
With reading all the things that man. Saint John 
Wrote about Heaven. Because he didn't know 
About it, more than I ! ( I'd worried so 
About those elders, and the harps and things !) 
And Father said 'twas "vainy 'maginings." 
( I know what that meant ; for once, when I 

smiled 
Into the glass, I was a "vainy child" 
They said: I didn't know 'twas wrong: I tried 
To make that boy smile back who stays inside.) 
I asked: were saints and grown-up people 

"vainy" even? 
And Father said, "O yes, 'twas mostly in a glass 

they looked at Heaven." 

"But Jesus thought perhaps a boy like me 
INIight find some things that grown-ups couldn't 
see." 

[36] 



I wasn't sure that I quite understood 
Just what He meant by that ; but it was good 
To know that Father knew; and I was glad 
I'd asked him ; for, you see, I never had 
To worry any more, until one day — 

it was dreadful ! — when I heard them say 
Father was ill. He had to be in bed. 

They wouldn't let me in. * * * O he was 
dead! 

1 didn't know just what to do. I had never even 
Dreamed that my Father'd leave me here alone, 

and go away to Heaven ! 

It was a funny, lonely sort of day, — 
That time, just after Father went away. 
The blinds all drawn, and everything so black, — 
Except where just a little, shiny crack 
Of light came under Father's door: — I sat, 
And watched it, there outside, upon the mat; 
Until I got quite sleepy, and my head 
So tired — they came and carried me to bed. 
Next morning — now aren't grown-ups very 

queer.? — 
Miss Brown said : "Come and see your Father, 

dear" ( ! ) 
See him ! why, years ago, when I was hardly 

seven, 
I knew that when you died, you had to go far, 

far away to Heaven ! 

[37] 



I couldn't understand; but when I ran 
To Father's room, there really was a man 
Asleep, I thought, like Father, lying where 
He used to sleep ; — but — Father wasn't there \ 
I thought he must be; for 'twas like him too. 
But 'twasn't he! I don't know how I knew: 
'Twas all that I could do just not to cry. 
But — O, a beautiful, great butterfly — 
Right in the room^ — flew out ! It was such fun 
To see him float and float up to the sun ! 
I had to run and watch him from the window. 

Even 
Just for a minute, I forgot that Father 'd gone 

away to Heaven 1 

My Auntie and Miss Brown were vertf cross ! 
They asked me: did I "realise my loss?" 
That I could laugh with Father ''lying dead 
There in that room!'' (That's truly what they 

said !) 
And I was "heartless"; and — the hutter^y 
Just wasn't there at all! Vd told a lie! 
Of course it wasn't any use to' say 
A word. But when they told me I might play 
Down in the garden, under my big tree, 
I cried and cried, out where they couldn't see. 
It's babyish to cry, I know ; but Father even 
Wouldn't have cared that day ; I was dis- 
couraged 'cause he'd gone to Heaven. 

[38] 



I miss liim now ; but then I'm busy too. 
And I've a pony; and the grown-ups do 
Try rather hard, I think, to be as kind 
As they know how. So I don't really mind 
So very much all day, while it is light. 
But when I want my Father is at night. 
When I am all undressed, and put my head 
Into that little round place in the bed 
You make when 3^ou get down to say your 
prayer — 

then I xcish that Father would be there 
Beside me ! For although I'm so much more 

than seven, — 
I'm nearly eight, — I can't see why I need two 
Fathers up in Heaven ! 

I always slept in Father's room, and we 
Did have such fun [ He used to play with me ; 
And if I waked up frightened in the night. 
He always came to me, and made a light. 
And talked, — (Of course I was much smaller 

then. 
Now I am eight, and going to school) . So when 

1 say: "O Daddy dear, who art in Heaven!" 
He seems close by, though I can't see him even ! 
And sometimes I pretend he isn't dead: 

He's just across there, in the other bed! 
But when I whisper "Father !" out into the black. 
Softly, — O how I wish sometimes that they 
would only answer back ! 
[39] 



A PRAYER FOR KATHARINE 

Written in the Prayer-Book given to a young girl upon 
her Confirmation 

Defend her, Lord! May Katharine be 
Happy and good confessing Theel 

Give her Thy hand, 

That she may stand! 
To every gracious vision sent 
O make Thine own obedient ! 
Keep her, in peace and strife, 

Close to Thy side. 

Until Thou open wide 
The gates of Light and Life! 



[40] 



AUTUMN 

O THE apples are red on the bending bough 
Of the Tree of Life ; and orchards now 

Their colours fly 

To a brave, blue sky, 
From strong, green branches a'swinging high ! 

Autumnal suns burn full and mellow 
On russet uplands, plum'd with yellow ; 

And the royal wold 

Where maples hold 
Their state is a splendour of living gold. 

From brush and stubble flaming clean, 
The pungent smoke that rises keen, 

Seems but to tell — 

Good, homely smell !^ — 
That living in dying things may dwell ; 

While the hearty voice of the Autumn wind 
Roars out a chaunt that is rough and kind: 

How death is at one 

With life begun 
Afresh ; that, spuming the flower, we run 

To seize the fruit that the gracious year 
Quickens to savour in falling sere. — 
Can the Tree be dead. 
When the apples are red.? 
Shall darkness endure, if the Flame be fed? 
[41] 



A WINTER WALK 

A SHIMMERING, icc-bluc couiitrj road that flows, 
Friendly in gracious curvings, up the hill ; 
With oaks of bronze, and birches pencilling 
still 

A sky all evening amethyst and rose. 

Each snowy ridge and furrow faintly glows 
From white to purple: every glittering rill, 
And flaming pool enamelled, seems to thrill 

Beneath the kiss the passing day bestows. 

A squirrel scampers through the golden light. 

And little pheasant foot-prints, dimly seen. 

Point home, where beckoning hamlet stars bum 

bright : 

While heavenly tapers, trembling from purest 

green, 
Quicken wayfarers in the dusk turn'd keen, — 
With thoughts like happy prayers to greet the 
night. 



[42] 



TO CHRISTINA OF DENMARK 
DUCHESS OF MILAN 

Painted by Hans liolbein the Younger 

Duchess and widow 1 Child ! what strange 

bright star 

Led down from Denmark's cradle to the court 

Of Milan? Hath Francesco Sforza sought 

Thy sweets of youth and loveliness to mar 

Or make but for an emperor? — Hapsburg bar 

To thrust through Lombard shield? Nay, 

Love but brought 
The northern birdling home ! — 'Twas joy that 
wrought 
That nuptial pageant : laughter ringing far 1 

Did laughing pass with loving? Didst thou 
grieve? 
Yet roguery touched the lips great Holbein's 
hand 
Tinted with May-bloom. Shall not the 
girlish guile 
Of those enchaunting finger-tips but weave 
New nets for Love? Lady, how Time doth 
stand 
Waiting on Ravishment ! — Christina, smile ! 



£43] 



ROSA ROSARUM 

"A man ought to open out as a rose which can no 
longer stay shut." 

Dante : "Conmvio" 

Dante, dear Master! thy "Convivio" 

A "banquet"? Nay, a garden, bearing 

flowers 
Water'd of Wisdom ! All thy bitter showers 
Turn'd sweet ; and suns of centuries, warming 

slow 
The sullen soil, have made fresh roses blow — 
Deep-hearted, crimson ! I would build me 

bowers, 
Rose-garlanded, for happy-fruited hours: 
Tell me, great Gardener, how such roses grow ! 

Drink deep of Wisdom's waters all thy youth; 
Remember; look before thee ; hoard the truth 
Each day doth bring! Then may thy soul 
unclose 
Her perfum'd petals to the evening light: 
Rendering to all thy fellows, ere the night, 
Thy bloom, thy fragrance — like this radiant 
Rose \ 



[M] 



LOVE 

I WONDER could I be a poet? Hark! 

How the chauntlng nightingale but tells 
The secret message of the throbbing dark 

In her perfumed nocturn ! How from wells 
Aetherial of limpid blue the lark 

Draws up the draught of loveliness that swells 
And sparkles out in music f So I'd mark 

Our joys, — and ring them back like chiming 
bells. 

When soft, imperious sweetnesses are clinging 

About me — waking in the happy night; 
Or sound and colour, in the street, come 

winging — 
Fluting from out our past; fresh posies 
bringing ; 
And dance to meet me in the morning light ; — 
then I'd give you all our Love in singing ! 



[45] 



UNION 

O NAUGHT to me the midnight sea 
That sweeps us leagues apart! 
Do I not rest warm in Love's nest, 
Heart of my heart? 

Alone I stand? Nay, hand in hand 

With thee! No surging strife, 
No blackness bars — we see the stars — 
Life of my life! 

My spirit one with thine ; the sun 

Shining upon our goal 
That we have past ; — I hold thee fast, 
Soul of my soul! 



[46] 



GREETINGS 

A maiden's greeting go with you, 

Dian, dear maiden pilgrim ! sailing bright 

Your faery bark through deeps of blue, 
And silent surges flashing silver-white ! 
O greet me one who loves 1 

Fond Cytherea, Love's own star! 

Thrill out your rosy radiance clear to sight ; 
Greet me my lad who's faring far; 

Let flame your torch for him and me to-night ! 
Quicken your gracious doves 1 

Celestial Ladies, hear my prayer ! 

Haste ! — and may Phoebus, chariot-wing'd 
for flight, — 
Knowing the message that ye bear. 

Bring back a golden greeting with the light I 
Pray you speed well our loves 1 



[4T] 



LOVE IN ABSENCE 

The Bliimlisalp blushes for morning breaking; 
Cuckoo and throstle call to life, awaking, 

Their early chaunt of love ; 
While dusky pines fling out fresh pungence 

keen. 
Shaken from branches emerald-crown'd and 
sheen, 
Far to the snows above. 

Over the flower-pastures purpling bright 
For Spring, how day comes dancing fleet and 
light; 

The merry measure keeping 
Of morning music, ringing rude, that tells 
Where happy creatures range ; and all their bells 

Chime to their foolish leaping. 

Kindles my soul to greet the daystar burning 
Clear through the dark, wherein I languish 
yearning 

To see thee; hear thy voice. 
My Love afar 1 Shall I rej ect the cup 
Of morning scent and sweetness brimming up 

For me ? Nay ; I rej oice ! 



[48] 



'Tis not that I forget, O Heart of mine ! 
But — drinking deep of this enchaunted wine 

Pour'd from the fount of morning — 
Can I lament thee, when I feel thee near — 
My lips to thine? — Lo, day hath brought thee, 
Dear! 

I clasp thee in the dawning! 



[49] 



TO A CHARMING OLD MAID 

Thou white, shy Spinster ! wimpled grey in sweet 
sobrieties : 
DwelHng withdrawn from men ; 
Yet yearning innocent afar toward deep-col- 
our'd mysteries 
Beyond thy cloister'd ken ! 

wrap thee strait, lest Love the Colour-Bearer, 
chaunting high. 
Charming thee in the way. 
Should rend these pearly veils— triumphant ; 
flood thy white with crimson dye, — 
Before thy close of day ! 



[50] 



WORDS 

Words are such elvish things ! 

They come from nowhere, one by one, 
Tripping and dancing in the sun: 

Then meet, and lo — a httle poem that sings ! 

Words have such gracious ways ! 

They shine so softly from afar, 

Each like a single distant star: 
Then clasping, — kindle to a hymn of praise ! 



[61] 



MENUETTO 

One ! two ! three ! 
(Trip it not too free!) 
Tread to and fro, — 
Twining, turning slow: 
With the cadence ending, 
Curtseying deep, and bending 
In the Minuet. 

Antony Watteau 
Saw them dancing so: 
Marked each pearly throat, 
And flowery petticoat: 
Painted beauties vying 
With their ribands flying 
Through the Minuet. 

How pale colours, blending. 
Graced the measure, sending 
Rosy notes and blue 
All the mazes through; 
For the gentlemen 
Matched the ladies then: — 
Dancing the Minuet 



[52] 



In coats of satin sheen — 
Saffron too, and green — 
That set the gallants well: 
Venice ruffles fell 
Over jewels glowing; 
Silver sword-knots flowing 
In the Minuet. 

Hark to the music tell 
Time like a triple bell, 
Rung from the clavichord ! 
Look you where the lord 
Of measure — smiling, swaying,- 
Bows to the melody ; playing 
Courtly the Minuet! 

Waxlights twinkle, showing 
Louis' court, unknowing: 
Pretty patches, grand perukes ; 
Lights-o'-love and royal dukes. 
Stately in the dance, 
(O weary, weary France!) 
Tripping the Minuet. 



[53] 



LIBERA ME, DOMINE!* 



Domine Deus! 
S per am in te; 
care mi lesu! 
Nunc libera me: 
In dura catena, 
In misera poena 
Desidero te; 
Languendo, gemendo, 

Et genuflectendo 
Adoro, imploro, 
Ut libera me! 



O Lord of Creation [ 
My trust in in thee ; 
Come Jesu ! Salvation ! 
Deliver thou me: 
A captive complaining, 
In duress remaining, 
My desire is toward thee. 
Lo, I languish, contend- 
ing 
In anguish ; yet bending 
Adore ! I implore — 
O deliver thou me! 
MARIA, Scotice Regina 

* From the Prayer-Book of Queen Mary, and gener- 
ally believed to be her composition. 



[54] 



''AUS DER HARZREISE'' * 

How the Fir-Tree's dear green fingers 
Tap the tin}^ window-pane ! 
How the Moon — that silent listener — 
Soft her golden light doth rain ! 

Father, Mother, breathing gently, 
In their chamber lie asleep, 
Close to where we two, still waking, 
Blessed watch together keep. 

"Is it but thy prayers thou sayest? 
May I trust thee ? May I dare 
To believe thy lips are moving, 
Stirred from out the deeps of prayer? 

"Cold those lips, — that evil stirring 
Frightens me; and yet it seems 
That my grieving thou dost comfort 
When thine eye so kindly beams. 

"O I doubt me thou believest 
In that faith we cherish most — 
Believ'st thou not in God the Father, 
In the Son and Holy Ghost.?" 

* From the German of Heinrich Heine "Aus der 
Harzreise, Bergidylle 2." 



[55] 



Ah, dear Child, — a boy, still childlike 
Sitting on my mother's knee, 
I believed that God the Father 
Ruled us — good and great was He! 

He who made this world of beauty. 
Made it for mankind — how fair! 
Sun and moon and stars appointed 
To their courses in the air. 

As I grew, my dear one, — growing 
Up to knowledge, then I won 
Power of reason ; comprehending, 
I believed upon the Son. 

Son how dear ! Belov'd and loving, 
Love's deep heart He opened wide; 
Love's accustomed wage receiving. 
By His own was crucified. 

Now, grown full to manhood ; learning. 
Journeying on with Wisdom's host, — 
Swells my heart within me, opening 
To receive the Holy Ghost. 

His what miracles of wonder ! 
Greater now than when He broke 
All the strongholds of the tyrant, 
Sundered every bondsman's yoke. 

[56] 



Death's deep, ancient wounds He heal- 
eth; 
He renews the ancient right; 
All mankind a race of nobles, — 
Freeborn, equal in his sight. 

Every evil cloud He scatters. 
Drives the fancies dark away 
Which have ruined love and pleasure. 
Closed us in by night and day. 

Knights a thousand, brave in armour. 
Doth the Holy Ghost select 
For his will ; his valour quickens 
All the souls of his elect. 

How their precious swords are glisten- 
ing! 
How their goodly banners wave ! 
Fain wouldst thou behold, my darling. 
Such a splendid warrior brave .^^ 

Child, look then on me ! My dear one, 
Kiss me boldly, nor be shy, — 
I myself am he — that warrior: 
Knight of the Holy Ghost am I ! 



[57] 



TO THE UNKNOWN GOD 



God of God ! Light of Light 1 
BUnded, shut close within the pall 
Of this Thy darkness, — cry we all: 
Give us our sight, 
Thou Lord of Day and Night ! 
Lord, hear Thy sightless creatures how 
they call 
Through the cosmic spaces deep : 
Through the blackness where we sweep 
Onward, outward ; fiercely clinging 
To this poor earthy round Thy finger hath set 

swinging : 
To this Thy toy that Thou art turning, — 
Grain of Thy star-dust, smouldering, feebly 
burning 
Dim to a spark, 
In the terrible Dark. 
Thy piteous atoms, whirl'd in wanton flight. 
We cry to Thee — 

All blindly flying — 
Lord, we would see ! 
O hear our crying. 
Master of Might ! Hear, Lord ! Lord, give 
us Light ! 



[58] 



Hast Thou not made us, Lord? each nation 
A cunning gem divinely wrought 
To pleasure Thee : — Thy gracious thought ? 
Purge Thy creation 1 
Bring Thine artistry salvation! 
O Light that shines in darkness, we have 
sought 
Thy brightness in our thronging hive ; 
In the noisome pit wherein we strive 
In hatred brother against brother, — 
Man against man — destroying, wasting each the 

other : 
Where women bring to birth with weeping 
The little children— Thine, Lord!— art Thou 
sleeping 
Above the murk 
Where the babies work ; 
Where Girlhood holds in Hell her habita- 
tion ? 
Crawling upon the sod, 

All vainly yearning 
Godless, unto our God ; 
In darkness turaing 
Sightless, towards the Light, — we seek sal- 
vation. 

Almighty, we would hear Thee ! Dost 

Thou call? 
Speak, Lord ! we hear the wailing of the 

thrall 

[59] 



Shrill through the deeper cursing of the im- 
potent. 
How long must we Thy children still blas- 
pheme 
Against the splendour of Thy shining 
Dream 
Of Justice: — Loveliness with Loving-Kind- 
ness blent? 
How lung, O Wisdom, shall our folly shame, 
With mirthless laughter low, the high resounding 
music of Thy Name? 



II 

Lord of Passion! shall we be 

Lovers? — while we pace the round 
Of this our unclean, loveless mound? 
Love, how can we 
Range, winging, far and free. 
Who fast in foul desires are lock'd and 
bound? 
How should we flame who freeze in lust. 
Forming fantastic shapes from dust — 
Dead things of matter — coldly shining 
Pale through our dry, unfragrant garlands pite- 
ous twining? 
Dreary endeavour! vain adorning! 
Treasure to crumble at the touch of morning 1 



[60] 



Dull fools, we spin 
Wavering webs and thin 
For our inhabiting : how we agree 
To name them strong — 

Frail strands of pleasure 1 
The night is long: 
Long do we measure 
Lustfulness. Burn, Love! that Lust may 
flee! 

Far distant Flame of Beauty: bless 

Our sordid living! Through the cloud 
That wreathes us in a shadow-shroud 
We peer and press : 
We seek wherewith to dress 
Our naked souls; adorn these bodies 
bow'd 
In tasks unbeautiful and grey. 
Yet, keeping our grim, unlovely way, 
We thrill to mystic brightness, — weaving 
Visions of sapphire shot with silver through; 

and cleaving 
Wavelets of rose to ruby glowing 
In drifted fire ; we bathe in colour throwing 
An opal whorl 
Frothing to pearl, 
Or pouring emerald lights in cool caress. 



[61] 



And Thy pale star-bloom 

Of topaz, flecking 
The amethyst gloom, 

Like flame-flowers decking 
The field of the Dark, — declares Thy Love- 
liness ! 

All-Loving, we would touch Thee! Draw 

Thou nearl 
Stoop down from hidden heights ; where, 
silver-clear. 
Trill through the purple promise of a gracious 
dawn 
Notes like the greeting of some waken'd 

bird; 
Or rustle of celestial raiment, stirr'd 
Soft in the quickening measure of the dancing 
mom. 
Lord of the Day ! no longer dwell apart 
From Thy creation I Come ! O we feel the 
beating of our Father's heart! 

Ill 

Bringer of Light ! Thy torch bums brave ! 
Kindling the level clouds that lie 
In violet ranks on the ashen sky. 
Wave upon wave. 
How ruddy splendours lave 
The livid east in glory : surging high 
[62] 



Where mountain sentries watch the Dark 
And wait upon the Dawn. How stark 
They stood night-long! Now, see them flaring 
Quick to the crimson triumph: colour trumpets 

blaring 
Day all-victorious. Beauty blushing 
Vivid through peak and glacier; snow-fields 
flushing 
Rosily bright 
For joy of the Light I 
Lo, where Creation leaps from the sullen 
grave 
To clasp her Lord 1 

Cerements far flinging 
To afi'ord 

Room for her winging 
Upward to hail Emmanuel come to save ! 

Light of the World! Emmanuel! 
We'd soar to Thine august embrace 
Through pure irradiancies of space: 
Springing from Hell 
To Heaven, where we would dwell 
For ever in the brightness of Thy face. 
Nay ; how it blinds ! — the burning blue 
That shuts Thee from Thy children's view; 
And Thy flame-white spires of snow, upleaping. 
Guard still the jealous God within their barriers 
keeping 

[63] 



DEC 12 1913 

Hid from our sight ! Fond eyes upraising, 
Dim from the Dark, into Thy splendour blazing, 
We see Thee not. 
Lord! is this our lot? — 
Ever to throb to the mighty beat and swell 
Of the Cosmic Heart 

Where our world is nesting. 
Yet live apart; 

Ever yearn unresting 
To see and to touch ; to know Thee and love 
Thee well? 

Nay; "God with us'M^ — Fools who aspire 

aloft. 
While starry thrusts of Dawn strike fair 
and soft 
Down through the dimness ! May we look to 
find Thee here? 
Lord! art Thou he — our brother whom we 

hate; 
Our sister. Thou, we shut within the gate 
Of shame? The cry of long-enduring child- 
hood sere — 
Is it Thy voice? — Invoking Thee above. 
We bind Thee in our bonds deep in the dreadful 
Dark, O Lord of Love ! 



[64] 



